


Pre-Soak Cycle

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Anal Plug, Anal Sex, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 12:10:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17549450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: I started this for the "barisi and the washing machine" prompt that was given to at least a couple of other writers (not to me), before I knew that it was going to turn into a collection. I look forward to seeing how everyone else interprets this prompt, and there will be better additions than this, I'm sure. Let's see how many things Barisi can get up to with a washing machine ;)





	Pre-Soak Cycle

“Come on, Raf, I said I’d do it,” Carisi said, making a grab for the shirt.

Barba knocked his hand aside and reached past him to drop the shirt into the washer. “I don’t want _all_ of my underwear to be pink,” he said.

“That was one mistake, I said I was sorry. Besides, almost everything here is mine.”

“I’m aware,” Barba answered, shooting him a dirty look as he tossed a pair of boxers into the machine.

“So. There won’t be any red socks. Don’t be cranky.”

“ _Cranky_? I’m not cranky,” Barba said, throwing several socks into the washer with an angry flick of his wrist. “Why would I be? I leave for three days and you break my washing machine—”

“I didn’t break it.”

“—and refuse to let maintenance re _pair_ the washing machine—”

“It’s only a belt! I told you I’d fix it, I just haven’t had time.”

“—thus allowing me to come home to a hamper _full_ of dirty clothes. So now we’re in a laundromat. Why would that make me cranky? Because I pay for a washing machine so I don’t have to do my laundry in public places?” Carisi muttered something unintelligible, and Barba paused in the middle of transferring a t-shirt into the washer. “Pardon me?” he asked.

“I said, hardly anything of yours is washable, anyway. We didn’t have to come here, the clothes could’ve waited until I replace the belt.”

“If you want to live in squalor, you’re welcome to go back to your old apartment,” Barba said.

Carisi tried unsuccessfully to hide his wince, and muttered, “Sorry.”

Barba sighed and threw the shirt into the machine. “I didn’t mean that,” he said. “You know that’s not what I want.” He ran a hand over his face. “I’m just tired.”

“We could’ve stayed home and relaxed,” Carisi mumbled, frowning into the washer. “You just got back.”

“Don’t sulk.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. You know I’ll feel better when this is finished, and we can go home and—”

“Go to bed?”

Barba snorted, grabbing a pair of sweatpants from the bag. He threw them at Carisi’s face, but the detective caught them and dropped them into the washer. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” Barba told him, shaking his head—his lips twitching in amusement—when Carisi grinned.

“I missed you,” the detective said. He reached out and touched a finger to the collar of Barba’s shirt. “Come on, Rafi, I know you missed me, too.”

“Against my better judgement,” Barba answered, his smile taking any possible sting out of the words.

“So, let me do this. Just go sit down and relax. I’ll get the laundry done, we can go home, I’ll make dinner and we can watch some TV—”

“Suck up,” Barba accused.

Carisi laughed. He glanced around; there were only a few other people in the laundromat, and they were spread out through the place. “You know I’ll do that, too,” he said, meeting Barba’s gaze. Carisi’s eyes were bright, his cheeks rosy, his hair messy. He smiled, because he knew he’d won. All traces of annoyance were gone from Barba’s expression.

“It doesn’t sound like the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Barba allowed with a small smile of his own. He reached into the canvas bag and grabbed another shirt. “But we can order in.” There was a thud as something tumbled out of the shirt onto the closed lid of the washer beside Barba’s laundry bag, and it rolled toward the edge of the machine.

“Shit,” Carisi said, snatching it up and trying unsuccessfully to shove it into his pocket. It was too large, and his jeans were too tight. He glanced around again, his cheeks darkening. No one was paying any attention, but he did his best to keep his hand out of sight between his leg and the washing machine. He looked at Barba, pressing his lips together.

Barba regarded him in silence for a moment. His voice was low, barely audible, when he asked slowly: “Why is there an anal plug in the laundry?”

“I forgot. Shit. I didn’t…I thought I’d have the washer fixed before you got home but then we had a call and I forgot…” He trailed off, fidgeting under Barba’s heavy gaze.

“I was only gone for three days,” Barba finally said.

“I missed you,” Carisi repeated, trying not to whine.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Did you dirty the sheets? Because I’m not going to come back here—”

“No. I didn’t do—” He dropped his voice into little more than a whisper. “I haven’t come since you left,” he muttered, holding Barba’s stare. “And I wasn't going to, I swear. I just…” He licked his lips nervously and bent his head closer to the other man. “I was just gonna…uh…sit on the washer…”

Barba’s eyes widened in surprise, and then narrowed. He couldn’t hide the dilation of his pupils, though, and Carisi caught his breath when Barba stepped closer. Looking up at the detective, the ADA said: “I’m gone for a few days and you’re ready to resort to sitting on a washing machine with a plug in your ass?” He tipped his head. “Am I so easily replaced?”

“No!” Carisi exclaimed, reaching for Barba’s arm.

“And you broke my machine before you could even try out this little idea of yours.”

Carisi didn’t bother to further defend himself about the washer.

“Stop swallowing.”

Carisi blinked. “Huh?”

Barba raised his eyebrows. “You’d better start working up some spit, unless I’m about to find lube in this bag, too.”

Carisi started to shake his head—there was no lubrication in the laundry bag—but paused, his forehead creased. Barba gestured toward the bathrooms with a tip of his chin, and Carisi’s eyes widened as realization dawned. He immediately started to harden, and he looked around the room, chewing on his lip. “Raf—”

“I’m curious,” Barba said. He glanced down. “You should’ve worn looser pants.”

“You like me in these,” Carisi managed.

“Now, now, Sonny,” Barba admonished softly. “You know better than that.” Their eyes locked and held. “I like you in anything.”

 

*       *       *

 

Barba was flipping through a six-year-old copy of Newsweek, barely seeing the pages, when Carisi emerged from the bathroom after a few minutes. Barba was sitting in the middle of a line of chairs that faced the machine he’d finished loading. He’d paused the cycle so Carisi wouldn’t miss anything.

At the sight of the detective crossing toward him—slight bulge straining at the tight fly of his jeans, tiniest hint of a hitch in his step, shine of lust in his eyes—Barba felt himself hardening, too. He set the magazine in the next seat as Carisi walked over to stand in front of him. The detective was fidgeting, seeming unsure of what to do with his hands.

Barba looked at Carisi’s crotch before dragging his gaze up to the other man’s, and he smirked at the small sound Carisi made. “Well? Have any trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” Carisi answered quietly.

Barba smiled up at him. “Hop on.” He chuckled at Carisi’s grimace. When the detective started toward the machine, Barba said, “Sonny.” When Carisi looked back, Barba tossed him the Newsweek and cast a pointed look toward his crotch. “You’ll need this.”

Carisi caught the magazine to his chest and grimaced, looking around. “You know there’s security cameras in here.”

“They probably don’t work, and anyway, there’s no sign saying sitting on the machines is prohibited.” Barba watched as Carisi set down the magazine and turned his back to the washer. He put his palms on the edge of the machine and levered himself up, hopping easily onto the lid. Barba waited until Carisi wiggled himself into a comfortable position and opened the magazine, and then he sent the detective a text, smiling as Carisi had to lift a hip to fish his cell out of his pocket.

Carisi set the magazine over his lap and frowned down at the phone before raising his gaze to Barba’s. After a moment, he reached behind himself and pushed the button to restart the washer.

**How’s it feel?** Barba texted after a few moments.

**Ask me when the spin cycle starts** , Carisi wrote back, and Barba chuckled. **It’s not bad. It’s not you.**

**No?**

**Nothing fills me up like you do** , Carisi texted, and it was his turn to laugh when Barba shifted in his seat.

**Maybe you’ll think twice about trying to replace me next time** , Barba answered, giving Carisi a pointed look. The detective sent back a sad face emoji, and Barba rolled his eyes. **Read your magazine or something.**

**What are you gonna do?**

**Sudoku** , Barba answered, grinning at Carisi’s frown.

After a few seconds, Carisi set his phone on the next machine, beside the laundry bag, and opened the magazine, propping it on his upper thighs. One of his feet was swinging idly in front of the washer as he tried to focus on the world events of six years earlier.

Barba’s phone had less than half of his attention; he couldn’t keep his eyes off Carisi for more than a few seconds—especially when the agitator started, and the detective squirmed on top of the machine, briefly closing his eyes. Barba couldn’t keep his own body from responding to Carisi’s arousal, but Carisi was showing remarkable self-restraint as he stared at the magazine, pretending that the vibration of the washing machine wasn’t stimulating him past his ability to actually read. Barba knew how tight Carisi’s jeans were, how constricting; he also knew that Carisi was prone to producing a lot of precum during prostate stimulation, and there was no way that Barba was going to be able to finish a Sudoku puzzle with _that_ image in his head.

Barba watched the detective through his lashes, barely noticing the minutes ticking by on the counter at the top of the puzzle.

Carisi’s foot was rocking back and forth, and he couldn’t stop fidgeting: tugging at his jeans, crinkling the magazine—the pages of which he’d forgotten to turn—as he repeatedly adjusted it on his thighs, shifting his weight. His forehead was creased, his cheeks were flushed, and when the spin cycle started, Barba couldn’t pretend to ignore him any longer. He sent a text, and Carisi reached over to eagerly snatch up his phone.

**How you doing?**

**How many hours has it been?**

Barba laughed quietly, and their eyes met. Carisi shifted his weight from one hip to the other. Barba looked down and wrote: **Just a few more minutes**. **You going to make it?**

**Sure**

**That machine’s really shaking, now.**

**I haven’t leaked through my jeans yet** , Carisi answered, and Barba made a low sound that was half laugh and half groan. **How you doing on that puzzle?**

**My average is shot to hell** , Barba texted, and they grinned at each other.

The machine stopped abruptly, and Carisi let out a breath of relief. He raised his eyebrows at Barba, silently asking for permission to dismount. Barba got slowly to his feet and crossed over to him.

“Need a hand?” Barba asked softly. “Or can you get off by yourself?”

Carisi pressed his lips together to keep any embarrassing sounds from escaping, and he slid carefully down to his feet. He held the magazine in one hand and shoved his phone into his pocket before lifting the lid of the washing machine. “By the time we get home, I won’t need anything more than a look,” he muttered, and Barba laughed.

“Did you break the dryer, too?”

“No.”

“Then let’s throw the wet clothes in the bag, we can dry them at home.”

Carisi smiled. “You anxious to get outta here?” he asked, glancing down at the front of Barba’s pants. The dark slacks and tight underwear made his arousal less noticeable, but Carisi knew exactly what condition Barba was in.

“I just don’t want you to embarrass yourself in public.”

“We could go in the bathroom and lock the door—”

“Don’t be crude,” Barba admonished, and Carisi laughed. Barba looked him over and cleared his throat. “God, you look good right now,” he muttered, and Carisi’s cheeks darkened in pleasure at the compliment. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“Okay,” Carisi said, turning toward the machine, tossing the magazine onto one of the others. He reached inside and started transferring the wet clothes into the canvas bag. He paused when Barba stepped up close beside him and put a hand on his wrist. Barba reached past him and quickly grabbed the last of the clothing, stuffing it into the bag.

“You want to walk, or sit in the back of a car?”

Carisi considered, shifting his weight. It was only a few blocks.

Barba searched his face. “If it’s too much—” he started, but Carisi cut him off.

“No, it’s fine,” he said. “Car, though, okay?”

“Let’s get a cab, it’ll be quicker.”

Carisi snatched up the heavy bag and held it in front of himself.

Barba smirked as they started toward the exit. “You’re walking like John Wayne,” he said under his breath.

Carisi shot him a worried look. “I’m not. Am I? I can’t help it, these pants are too tight.”

“You’re going to wear these jeans any time we go anywhere from now on,” Barba returned. He put a hand on Carisi’s back. “Relax, no one knows or cares. Come on.”

They hailed a cab, and Carisi dropped the bag into the backseat before crawling in after it with a small, involuntary sound as he sat. Barba got in beside him and pulled the door shut. He gave the driver his home address, ignoring the man’s obvious annoyance at the small fare.

“Try to miss the bumps,” Barba said, and Carisi smiled at him. Barba settled a hand onto the detective’s thigh, giving his leg an encouraging squeeze.

 

*       *       *

 

“Look at this,” Barba murmured, tugging open Carisi’s fly. “You leaked all over yourself. Do I need to take you back to the laundromat?” He shook his head, pinching gently at the wet cotton of Carisi’s briefs. “Such a mess.”

Carisi groaned at the contact, and Barba looked up at his face. “Let me suck you. I’ll get you ready.”

“Ready?” Barba repeated, cocking an eyebrow. He took hold of Carisi’s wrist and brought the hand to his crotch. “I’m ready,” he laughed. “Unlike you, I haven’t made a mess of myself, though. Yet.”

Carisi palmed him eagerly, and said, “Please, Raf.”

“Get undressed.”

Carisi quickly pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the floor before shoving his jeans and underwear down with a wince. He toed off his shoes and stepped out of the jeans, kicking them aside. He stood before Barba, naked, his chest and neck flushed, his erection glistening.

“You’re dripping on the floor,” Barba said, and Carisi looked down at himself. Barba laughed and gestured with his chin. “Bend over.”

Carisi turned and bent, putting his hands on the edge of the bed and spreading his feet on the floor. He looked over his shoulder as Barba stepped up behind him. Barba ran a finger over the base of the plug, and Carisi gasped, dropping his head forward.

“So sensitive,” Barba murmured. He tucked a finger under the base, applying gentle pressure, and Carisi grunted. “You’re all red.”

“I’m— _ah_ ,” Carisi said, tightening reflexively when Barba pulled on the base of the plug.

“You don’t want to give it up?” Barba asked, sounding amused. He put a hand on Carisi’s ass, spreading him open with his thumb and forefinger. “Do you want to come with this inside you?”

“No,” Carisi said.

“Relax, then,” Barba said softly, readjusting his grip on the base. He pulled the plug slowly, and Carisi moaned as it finally slipped free of his ass.

“God, you’re gonna make me shampoo the carpet, huh?” he muttered.

Barba laughed. “Still leaking?” he teased, running a finger over Carisi’s opening. Carisi sucked in a quick breath at the contact. “Alright. You’ve done very well, Sonny. Come on, up on the bed, I’ll make you feel better.”

“No, I want you to fuck me. Like this. Please, Raf.”

Barba hesitated. He used his thumbs to pull Carisi’s cheeks apart. “You must be sore,” he said. “There’s time for that—”

“Please,” Carisi repeated, looking back at him.

Barba ran a hand over the other man’s hip. “If you’re sure,” he said, and Carisi nodded, his hair flopping on his forehead. “Alright. I’ll be right back.”

Carisi shifted onto his elbows on the bed, hanging his head. Barba didn’t leave him waiting for long, and had stripped out of his clothes when he stepped up behind Carisi with the bottle of lube.

Barba spread lubrication over and around Carisi’s hole before slipping a finger inside him. Carisi pushed back against the intrusion, drawing him deeper. “Alright,” Barba repeated quietly. He withdrew his finger and quickly applied a generous helping of lubricant to his own erection before tossing the bottle onto the bed. He took himself in his hand, pushing gently against Carisi’s opening. “Tell me if it’s too much.”

“Never,” Carisi said, reaching a hand back to grab at Barba’s hip. “Come on, Raf.” Barba flexed his hips, filling Carisi with one smooth movement, and Carisi gasped: “Oh my God.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Please.”

Holding both of Carisi’s hips, Barba said, “Take me how you want me, Sonny.”

Carisi rocked forward and shoved himself back, making a sound close to a whimper. He repeated the movement several times while Barba gripped his hips with white-knuckled hands, before finally saying, “I can’t—please, you do it.”

Barba couldn’t deny such a direct plea, and he held Carisi in place as he started a slow and steady rhythm.

“Harder, please. Oh God, can I come, Raf?”

“Of course,” Barba breathed, “you’ve waited long enough.”

Carisi dropped his head onto the bed and clutched desperately at Barba’s hip as his orgasm rocked through him; his knees bent, but Barba held him up. “Come inside me,” Carisi mumbled against the comforter.

A moment later, Barba did, his hips stuttering to a halt as he spilled himself inside the younger man. “ _Christ, Sonny_ ,” he breathed as Carisi tightened around him, wringing him dry. Finally, Barba put a shaky hand on the other man’s back. “Easy, honey,” he said, carefully withdrawing with a sigh.

Carisi put a knee on the bed and pushed himself up and forward before flopping over onto his back. “Sorry I made a mess on the comforter,” he said. “Give me a minute and I’ll clean up,” he added, gesturing vaguely toward the floor with a weak swipe of his arm.

Barba walked over and sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand over his face. “Leave it,” he said. “It can wait until morning.”

Carisi reached out and slid a hand down Barba’s back. “I know you like things to be neat—”

“Tell that to Carmen, who keeps threatening to organize my desk,” Barba said, looking back at Carisi with a smile. He searched the detective’s face for a moment. “Are you alright?”

“This is your apartment, Rafael. I’ll try—”

“For Christ’s sake, Sonny, you know better than to listen to me when I’m tired and hungry. This is _our_ apartment. I don’t care about the washer or the laundry or your cum drying on the edge of our bedspread. I just...really missed you, too.”

Carisi smiled and pushed himself up to meet Barba’s kiss. “Raf, I hate to tell ya, but your cum’s on the bed, now, too.”

Barba sighed against the other man’s mouth. “I knew I should’ve put that plug back in you,” he said, and Carisi laughed, dropping back onto the bed.

“Sorry I made you do all the work. Lost my legs for a minute, there.”

Laughing, Barba said, “That’s two-thirds of your body.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“Yeah, you’ll make it up to me. You’ll make it up to me in the shower.”

“Thought you didn’t care about the mess.”

“I lied,” Barba said with a smile. He reached back and put a hand on Carisi’s thigh. “Anyway, the hot water will make you feel better.”

“Can we take a bath?” Carisi asked hopefully.

“You want us to squeeze into that fucking tub together so we can stew in our mutual filth?” Barba returned with an arched brow.

“Yeah.”

Barba laughed. “Three days, Sonny. What the hell would you’ve done if I’d been gone a week?”

“Come looking for you,” Carisi answered with a grin.

Barba laughed again, shaking his head. “Guess I’ll have to take you with me next time,” he murmured.

“Or you can just stay here with me,” Carisi countered.

“Hmm,” Barba answered, regarding him. “Not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Carisi bumped Barba’s hip with a leg. “I know you like me, Raf, you can’t fool me.”

“Against my better judgement,” Barba said with a smile, “I actually fucking love you. Come on, let’s go get cleaned up.”

 


End file.
